“That’s okay, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Well, where to start ...”
Harvard University, 20 years ago …
Lisander watched, amused, as his young Italian friend was berated in the middle of the cafeteria by a gorgeous young undergraduate. Lisander would have bet good money that Maceo didn’t even remember the girl’s name, let alone her phone number to call her again. He had never known anyone as blatantly charming or irresponsible as Maceo, but the other man had made his first semester in a new country a lot easier. And definitely more fun. They’d started talking at a bar during Fresher’s week and had hit it off straight away. Maceo’s roommate, Seth Cantor, a tall, quiet Canadian, had become a good friend too. That they shared a birthday was just a weird but cool coincidence according to Maceo, but Lisander, always superstitious, wondered if there was more to it.
“Hey...” Seth poked Lisander on the shoulder, jolting him from his reverie. “Is Maceo winning or losing the argument?”
Lisander chuckled as they both watched Maceo gesticulating wildly, trying to explain himself to the angry girl. “Losing, of course,” Lisander said with a laugh. “I’m waiting for the slap.”
As if on cue, the girl cuffed Maceo around the face and darted off in tears.
Grinning ruefully, Maceo made his way back to his friends. He shrugged when he saw them laughing. “Collateral damage,” he said, showing them the bright red palm print on his face.
“Do you even remember her name?” Seth shook his head, laughing. Maceo grabbed a can of soda from Lisander’s tray and popped the tab, completely unrepentant.
“Listen, doesn’t everyone come to college to get stoned, educated, and laid? They should know the rules by now.”
Seth and Lisander exchanged a look. “One day, Bartoli, you will meet a woman who will slay you. Utterly slay you.”
Maceo stole Lisander’s apple too and crunched into it. “I doubt that day will ever come, my friends …”
Florence.
Now…
Maceo feltlike he was broken. He thought if he opened his mouth to speak then all that would come out would be gibberish. The nurse who kept an eye on him in the waiting room was casting worried glances in his direction.
It had been hours, and they were still trying to save Ori’s life. Every time they came to update him, he steeled himself for the news that Ori was dead. The strain was almost unbearable.
She could die. My darling girl could actually die.
“Are you sure I can’t call someone for you?” The nurse had a kind, sweet face and he tried to smile at her.
“I can’t remember any of their numbers.” God, he was out of it. The nurse got up and came to sit by him.
“They will be on your phone, I think. May I look?”
He handed her his phone disinterestedly, then an idea started to form in his mind. “Yes,” he said, his voice gruff. You can call four people for me. Ask them to come. Ask them to come together.”
The nurse was flicking through his contacts. “And the names?”
Maceo smiled without a glimmer of humor. “Seth Cantor, Lisander Duarte, Benoit Vaux … Alex Milland.”
Venice
Lisander putthe phone down and drew in a deep breath. He stood in Maceo’s office inThe Floating City Galleriawith a pale, shaken Kate and a tear-stained Lucia. Ori had been stabbed. She was dying.
“Jesus,” he finally said, the word coming out in a rush.
“Sander? Does Maceo want us to go there?” Kate put her hand on his arm.
Lisander nodded. “Yes … he said to use his private jet – Lucia, can you arrange that for us? He wants us to come together, so we’ll have to wait for Benoit, Seth, and Alex.”
“Why does he want to wait for all of us?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
